


Can’t You See I’m Burning

by artificialmac



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Caring Brooke, Comfort/Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sick Character, Sick Vanjie, Sickfic, Sweet Brooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19081834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialmac/pseuds/artificialmac
Summary: Jose and Brock broke up. But when Jose get sick and calls Brock in a fevered haze, Brock shows up. Awkwardness and angst ensue.





	Can’t You See I’m Burning

Jose didn’t remember calling Brock.

Although, if he were being honest, Jose never really remembered calling Brock. Because he was usually drunk, or lonely, usually both. So, when the tall Canadian turned up at his doorstep in the mid afternoon with a duffel and a takeout bag, Jose was reasonably confused. 

“Hey. I brought some stuff.” Brock fidgeted with his hands, as much as was possible due to them being full. “Didn’t know if you would need it, but I wasn’t sure what you were sick with, so I kinda…brought everything.” Brock, ever the preparer, had carried around with him what he called his “sick bag.” Jose remembered fondly telling Brock that he never got sick, and there was no use for a whole duffel bag, and who the hell has a whole duffel bag ‘just in case.’ Jose was grateful for it now though, as he let Brock into his apartment, the two doing the absolute most to not come in contact with each other. 

Brock started unpacking the duffel, looking anywhere but his former flame. He unpacked hot packs and cold packs and gauze and bottles and bottles of cold medicine, Advil, turmeric, and anything else the white people on TV we’re telling him to buy. Jose tried not to let a smile creep up his face at the thought of Brock fervently packing the bag with anything and everything he saw at the drugstore. He failed.

When Brock was done, he finally made eye contact with Jose. Only then did it hit him their situation. “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t even think.” He looked lost for a moment. “I should go, you didn’t ask me to do this-I just thought-” Brock shook his head at himself and began packing the sick bag up again.

Jose placed a hand lightly on Brock’s arm. The other man didn’t flinch as Jose expected, but met his eyes. “Stay.” Was all he could croak out. Brock immediately shifted again, to His Brock. The soft and senseless one that kissed him in the middle of the streets of Toronto just because he could. The one that made him meet the family only a few months into dating because he knew Jose was special. The one that knew, with that one word, that he, all that he was, was welcome here. It was his home too.

His Brock placed two hands on the sides of his face. “Baby, you sound horrible.” The pet name slipped out. And Jose could see the sound ricocheting around Brock’s face, but before he could overthink it, the way he did everything, Jose placed his much smaller hands on Brock’s. 

They stood there a moment. Reacclimating to each other’s breathing. It didn’t take long to find the rhythm again, and Jose swears by everything that the sound of Brock’s breathing could be the soundtrack to his life, and he wouldn’t mind. Finally, Brock pulled his hands away and grabbed one of the numerous bottles. He moved around the apartment like it was home, and dammit if that didn’t make the knife in Jose’s chest twist a bit. 

Brock came back from the kitchen with a glass of water and two shiny pills. He watched intently as Jose swallowed them down, struggling a bit due to the scratching in his throat and the pang in his chest at the eye contact. Brock then took the glass and placed it in the sink delicately, gracefully. Everything Brock did was graceful, fucking ballerina. He did everything like he danced. He ate like he danced, he talked like he danced, he fucked how he danced, he loved Jose how he danced. 

With grace, and caution.

Brock placed a delicate hand to Jose’s forehead, and the younger man leaned into the touch, he hated that he did, but it was instinct. Brock’s eyebrows furrowed; a reaction Jose recognized as displeasure. “How do you feel?” Brock asked, pulling out a thermometer from god knows where in that damn bag.

“Tired.”

Brock smiled lightly as he placed the thermometer under Jose’s tongue. “We’ll get you to bed soon.” We. Brock said We. Jose’s sick brain was processing things much slower, and more intensely. Meaning him. Meaning he was going to be there. Jose again tried and failed to suppress a smile. It moves the thermometer a bit, and Brock, the perfectionist, wanted to fix it, hands going up to do so, but he stopped himself. He always seemed to be stopping himself around Jose. “Have you eaten today?” 

Jose shook his head, moving the thermometer again, Brock’s hands twitched at his sides. “Eat first and then bed?”

Jose shook his head again. “Bed.” He croaked as the thermometer was removed.

Brock gave him a worried look, but acquiesced, leading Jose down the hall to their-his room. Jose climbed under the covers slowly, languidly, not gracefully. Brock closed the shutters, something Jose hadn’t been right in the head enough to do yet. But as he made the move to leave the bedroom, Jose stopped him with a small “wait.” 

Worried Brock was back, knowing what Jose was going to say before he said it. “Stay.”

“I’ll just be outside, ok? I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, stay.” Jose motioned to the bed. Worried Brock and His Brock were fighting. The battleground was Brock’s face. Four months’ worth of memories and emotions played across his features in a matter of seconds. 

Jose wished he could have seen them all too, but when he closes his eyes a few moments later, he does. 

He wakes up at night, or what he assumes is night, because the limited light streaming through the shutters is that of streetlights outside. He tries to roll over but is met with a man-sized barrier in his way.

Their limbs were intertwined the way they always were, finding their positions like they were always meant to be there. Brock’s arm draped possessively over Jose’s hip; chin placed on top of Jose’s head. 

Jose could have stayed there forever, but the pounding in his head, and the ache in his stomach refused to be ignored. Jose lightly shifted, trying his best not to rouse the older queen, but Brock always knew when he was needed, and stirred awake slowly. Jose met his beautiful eyes as they took in their surroundings. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

They looked at each other for a moment more, both unwilling to break what they knew was a fleeting moment of peace. Only after what felt like a second did Jose proceed to cough up a lung, his small body wracked with jerky movements. Brock put a hand on his back, just to let him know he was there. 

Then the hand was gone, and Brock was gone. 

But he came back with the takeout food he had evidently put in the microwave, due to the steam rising from it. Jose took the plate and two more pills graciously. They sat in silence as Jose ate, and Brock made sure he didn’t choke himself on accident. 

It began to get a bit unnerving. “You don’t gotta keep starin at me.”

“Sorry.” Brock looked away. He looked to the ceiling, and to the floorboards, and to the window, and back to Jose. 

“How are you feeling? You seem like you can talk better.” The hopeful tone of Brock’s voice made Jose pause. If he felt better, Brock would leave. And dammit if that thought didn’t mean more than it should.

“Still hurts like a bitch.” Which wasn’t a lie, but then Jose made a hacking noise that was definitely fake. The immediate concern on His Brock’s face hit Jose right in the chest. It was suddenly harder to breathe.

When Jose had finished stomaching as much food as he could, Brock leaned across the small distance to touch his forehead. Still too warm for comfort, Brock sentenced Jose to more sleep, and more cuddles. Well not the second part, Jose prescribed those for himself. And this time, he didn’t try to suppress the smile that formed on his lips as the two intertwined their bodies once more. 

The morning came too fast for Jose’s taste. The blinds were still shut, the room still quiet, save the hum of the air conditioning. It was peaceful. Jose turned his head and found that Brock was already awake and looking at him. If he had any shame left, Brock would have blushed, but pressed chest to chest with his ex in bed, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The soft smile that lined his face only widened as his staring was returned. Brock ran his fingers gingerly through Jose’s short hair. The younger man finding his eyes closing as he leaned into the touch. Maybe Brock did have three cats after all, Jose thought.

“Good morning.”

Jose opened his eyes slowly. “Hi.”

“Feeling any better?”

_Now I am._

Jose just shrugged. Not wanting to lie, and not wanting to tell the truth either. 

But Brock always knew when he was needed. So, when he took Jose’s temperature, he made up his mind. 

Jose saw less and less of His Brock as he was packing, and more and more of Worried Brock, and Scared Brock. Jose was helpless to watch as all the Brocks made their way to the door.

Jose followed them, almost in a trance. He waved and gave a polite smile, and Professional Brock returned both. 

Jose went back inside and tried to get his breathing under control, feeling like he had been holding it for a day. He noticed the dishes had been done, and the floor swept, and the bathroom cleaned.

Like a beautiful angel, Brock had swept into his apartment and fixed every little thing. 

Except maybe Jose’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
